


the lace in your dress tangles my neck

by OhMaven



Series: we don't look the same anymore [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergent, Cassian has a lot of feelings, Everybody Lives, F/M, Gen, He just doesn't show them, fluff stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:59:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9281315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhMaven/pseuds/OhMaven
Summary: "Oh, letting the water fall. The death of a bachelor, oh, seems so fitting for - happy ever after. How could I ask for more? Lifetime of laughter, at the expense of the death of a bachelor."-- The Death of a Bachelor





	

“This is not how you wanted to spend your evening, is it?”

The droid’s voiced echoed from the front of the ship; Cassian Andor grit his teeth and checked his blaster a second time. He forced himself to count to ten, to holster his blaster deliberately rather than out of agitation. After all, it wasn't the droid’s fault. “No, K. It isn't.”

Mercifully, K-2SO let out a low noise that was a hum rather than words. Cassian was able to finish re-packing his go bag in a modicum of peace. He couldn't help that his thoughts continued to drift towards the annoyance he was doing his damndest to ignore. They  _ should _ have been on their way back to base right now. Missions had a way of taking a turn for the worse at the most inconvenient times.

Cassian lifted the bag’s strap and tilted his head, letting the heavy fabric fall against his collarbone, and then settling it more comfortably across his chest. On the exterior, his expression was calm. His brown eyes held a measure of contained warmth, his lips twitched in one of his concealed smiles, and his scruff had taken a turn for disheveled beard - Cassian didn't bother to neaten it, not given where they were headed.

“You ready, K?”

“I am always ready,” the droid countered as he joined Cassian in the bay. “I do not have a beard to fuss over.”

“Very funny.”

The droid’s torso hunched in what Cassian knew was an approximation of a human shrug. He bit back a grin, and lightly slapped K’s back. “Come on, we have to make the cantina by sunset.”

As the sun began to descend, the pair wound through the extensive port and into the city. Koan’re was heavily populous; the planet and city of the same name was known for its humanitarian works. They accepted refugees from all points of origin, and turned a blind eye to the shadier dealings that took place under their noses. The Empire loathed the place, and littered their informants liberally across the cityscape. People like Cassian liked it. Sure, he couldn’t  _ trust _ anyone, but that was true of all places. Not having to worry the government was going to topple over on him was just a bonus.

He’d have liked it  _ better _ if he hadn’t had to chase his contact here from their original rendezvous point.  _ They should have been on their way back to base by now. _ He’d changed a lot in the years since meeting one Jyn Erso, but the Rebellion still came before he did - even in this particular situation. Cassian could only hope Jyn would understand if he was even later returning to base.

Cassian could only hope  _ Jyn _ would still be there when he returned.

The crowded streets were turning cold, when Cassian and K2 finally turned to step into a dark, seedy,  _ warm _ cantina. As small boy, before things had all  _ changed _ , Cassian had remembered his older cousins discussing places like this in reverent, dirty, voices. He wondered idly if any of them had anticipated that he’d wind up spending so much of his adult life meeting women in places like this. K2 ambled off to find a seat for them, while Cassian ordered himself a drink. The spy waited, forcing himself to relax. It wouldn’t do for anyone to realize just how badly he wanted to have left port hours ago; how much he’d wanted to avoid coming here to  _ begin _ with.

It didn’t matter what he  _ wanted _ ; never had, if he was being honest. Despite a slight shift in circumstances, Cassian still found his own desires near the bottom of his priorities. So he accepted the lukewarm drink that vaguely resembled piss water, and made his way through the crowd to the table where his best friend was sitting hunched possesively.

On the bright side, he  _ was _ in a seedy room with half-naked dancing girls, with his best friend - so he supposed in a backwards fashion he was actually doing this right.

Cassian set his drink down, and took the seat that put his back to the wall. He pretended to let his eyes linger over the gaming tables, pretended to greedily take note of the money exchanging hands. Where was she? Mon Mothma and Draven were both waiting for some sort of information drop, and Cassian had spent the last  _ week _ chasing it across the galaxy and back. He’d like to get back to base sometime between now and Jyn’s inevitable departure if it was all the same.

A heavy thud caught his attention; the spy glanced around the room, trying not to be too obvious about it.

“Cassian.” The droid’s tone was quieter than usual, but no less pointed. The man turned his attention in the direction K2 was looking; and there she was. His contact must have arrived a day or so ago - she’d already landed herself a job. Not that Cassian imagined it took much time or paperwork to acquire a job dancing in a place like this. Her wide hips were tightly encased in scant swathes of leather; they jingled lightly, must have something sewn into them. Her chest was nominally covered by sheer, gauzy, fabric in dizzyingly bright shades. Unlike the other dancers, she wasn’t a Twi’lek; nor was she human, although she closely resembled them in form, her face contained six eyes rather than the standard two, and when she smiled her teeth were razor-sharp. Which was probably the reason for the basketed muzzle strapped to her face.

The spy’s mouth had gone dry; this was not something he’d been expecting.

Cassian was willing to do a  _ lot _ of things for the Rebellion, and damned if he hadn’t shown that time and again. His hands were still laced with the blood of so many innocents. His boots had walked down shady paths. His tongue still instinctively lied more than it gave up the truth. All that said, he’d be  _ damned _ if he purchased the time and attention of a scantily clad dancing girl the night before his wedding.

Except, he realized, he was going to need to do just that. The muzzle looked like it prevented her from speaking as much as it did her opening her mouth. More than likely, there was an upcharge for buying her, ah... _ time _ ...if you bought it without the muzzle. He couldn’t quite keep the groan from K2’s notice.

“Well,” the droid said. If K2 had been capable of emotion, Cassian would have described that tone as  _ malicious glee _ . “I always said the probability of her using your blaster against you was high.”

“Shut up, K.” He didn’t want to think about how right the droid probably was. The info dump was important though, and Cassian liked to think that Jyn understood him well enough by now. The things he did in the field, the things he did for the  _ Rebellion _ were not the things he brought home to her.

They tried not to discuss work in their limited time together, anyway. Jyn worried about his work as an intelligence officer. Cassian stayed up at night concocting inventive things to do to General Han Solo if he got Jyn killed in Pathfinder expeditions. When they were  _ together _ there were better uses of their time.

Even still, there were probably special kinds of punishment for men who purchased prostitutes the night before their wedding.

No one could say Cassian was a coward, though, so he drank what was rest of his vile beverage, settled the cup down with a decisive  _ thud _ against the table, and stood. “I think,” he said loudly enough for the nearby tables to hear. “I’d prefer  _ nicer _ company now, droid.”

Although no one paid him any mind as Cassian made his way over to the dancing girls, he felt incredibly self-conscious. He was grateful that he’d mastered the neutral expression he wore right now years ago; still, it was a struggle to narrow his eyes at the woman in feigned interest. As he came to a stop in front of her, the woman made eye contact, and nodded slightly. So Cassian turned to the pimp, and then jerked his head at her.

_ Vreela _ , his mind supplied. That was her name. Cassian didn’t know if it was her  _ real _ name, or just the one she used with him. In any case, he didn’t want to betray her trust now. “That one,” he jerked his chin to her. “How much without the muzzle.”

He tried not to be sick as he handed over the exorbitant number of credits, and wrapped his arm around Vreela. Cassian’s hand settled easily around the curve of her hip, and he couldn’t help wanting to push her away. This was work, he reminded himself, and gave her a gentle squeeze as he pulled her away. There he was; Vreela in one hand, and the keys to her muzzle in the other.

In fourteen hours, he’d be getting married.

Hopefully, anyway.

Cassian backed them into a dark corridor of the cantina, settled in a chair provided for (he assumed, anyway) this exact purpose. He tugged Vreela down after him, wincing internally as she straddled his lap, gripping him between her strong thighs. As she leaned into him, pressing her nearly-bared breasts against his chest, Cassian fumbled with the key, setting it into the lock on the leather straps at the back of her head. His only comfort was that he felt the insincerity of her motions as strongly as his own.

With the basket muzzle peeled away, Vreela pressed her lips to his neck, just under his ear. One of her hands grabbed him through his trousers. “The information drive...it’s in my belt.”

Oh, Cassian wondered as he battled the dizzying nausea rising quickly. Was that what they called the lower half of her...attire? They were close enough for him to know that the scraps of leather were the only thing between her and his trousers. Both of his hands went to her hips as she kissed along his neck; his fingers fumbled along the belt until -  _ there _ . Carefully he detached it, and then palmed it into his own pocket. Vreela didn’t stop her movements; he could still feel her lips slipping along his skin.

As gently as he could manage, Cassian pushed Vreela away. “I can’t.”

He wouldn’t - not even for his cover, or her own. Not even for the Rebellion.  _ Not tonight _ . Vreela looked surprised, so he added even more softly. “I’m getting married. Tomorrow.”

Whatever light had been in the woman’s eyes vanished. He thought he might see tears in the corners of her eyes, but she was struggling to mask them if they were there, and he wouldn’t bring them up now. “I am sorry,” her voice still the low hiss of her species. “Go. I’ll wait just long enough, and go back - I’ll send your droid to you.”

Cassian hesitated, not sure he should trust her. She sighed, lifted a hand to run her fingers down his cheek. “Go. I was married once...long ago. I  _ will _ send your droid to you.”

Every bit of training ordered him to stay in the chair, even after the woman crawled off him. Every instinct screamed to get on his ship, and get home.  _ Home _ . He could picture Jyn now, her stern gaze, the fullness of her lips as they parted. Without dwelling too much longer on whether or not he should trust her, Cassian levered himself out of the chair.

“Thank you,” he managed, before turning to head through the twisted labyrinth of the back of the cantina, eventually stumbling out into the cold night. It was after curfew, but if he was careful he  _ should _ make it back to the ship.

For the first time since this mission had begun, Cassian felt like the Force might be with him. There were no complications, and scarcely half an hour past before K2 appeared at the ship’s hatch. Together they quietly departed Koan’re; the droid plugged in the coordinates for their jump to hyperspeed. It was a near-silent return to base, for which Cassian was grateful. He spent a large portion of the journey in the ship’s small refresher, trying hard to get the slimy,  _ dirty _ feeling out of his skin. In all his years with the Rebellion, Cassian had never felt more used. By the time they appeared above the base, he thought he was going to be sick. Would Jyn see his actions on his face? She read him in ways he didn’t understand, saw through him like no one else ever had.

It was nearly 5:00 hours local time when they landed; only seven hours off from the wedding they’d spent two weeks gathering people for. Chirrut, more fragile than ever after their Scarif ordeal, had agreed to perform the ceremony. Bodhi Rook had gone to fetch the monk and his guardian - and his was the cheerful face Cassian saw as he disembarked.

The pilot was lanky, thin, and still a bit  _ flighty _ . Odds were high - according to K2 - that Bodhi would never regain himself as he was prior to Bor Gullet, but neither was he as broken as he had been once. Cassian could honestly say that watching Bodhi Rook rebuild himself was one of the most heroic things he’d ever seen - it was why he’d asked his friend to be his witness at the small ceremony later in the day.

It was why Bodhi had been the one planning Cassian Andor’s stag party, the night before. A party Cassian had, regrettably, missed.

Bodhi’s friendly shoulder clap was equally sentimental. “Sorry you got caught off-world, Captain. The party was a little, ah...I mean, we didn’t  _ waste  _ the opportunity, but…”

Cassian understood. Rebellions were a long game, and it was difficult to find causes for celebration. “It’s fine, Bodhi. Do you know where I can find-”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“Cassian!” Jyn’s voice cut across the hangar, and he was pleased by her rapid pace as she approached them; there was relief and frustration mingled on her face, but he didn’t think she could be more beautiful than she was in this moment. Bodhi disappeared - probably to help K2 settle the ship - as Cassian Andor stepped into Jyn Erso’s orbit. “You were supposed to be here  _ yesterday _ .”

Her voice was sharp, but her hands were not. They pressed against his chest, her eyes dragged over him from the top of his head to the dirty toes of his boots; it was ritual, checking for injury. His own hands had found her back, gently stroking as he checked her over. Habit. The small smirk  _ wasn’t _ habit but it was just for her. “The mission took longer than I expected, but I wouldn’t have missed today for  _ anything _ .”

Unspoken, between them, the promise that he would always come back for her; that they would  _ always _ be home to one another.

Jyn’s hands drifted upward, and Cassian closed his eyes against the sensation of her touch along his neck and his jaw. It felt altogether different than Vreela’s - he felt light, and  _ alive _ , rather than sick. It reminded him of Endor, and the night they’d shared together - the first, he hoped, of many such nights. Her touch made his body burn in a way that the curvy, half-naked dancer’s had not.

“Cassian.” Jyn said quietly, her breath against his neck as she’d stood on tiptoe.

“Mm?” His arm had slid around her without his consent, bracing her against his chest while she balanced on her toes.

There was a lengthy pause, and then, “you missed a spot.”

It felt as though she’d dumped a bucket of Hoth over his head; Cassian’s eyes snapped open, his body froze. Jyn’s fingers were rubbing at a place just beneath his ear - where Vreela had whispered between kisses about the information drive he still held in his pocket. “I…”

He could explain,  _ had _ to explain to Jyn why today - on their kriffing  _ wedding day _ \- he had been caught with another woman’s lipstick on his skin. He just needed to find the right words. Cassian wet his lips as Jyn pulled back, settled fully on her feet, studied the red smear on her fingertips.

“Must have been one hell of a party last night.” Her words were light; they both knew he hadn’t been at Bodhi’s party last night, that if he  _ had _ been the only lips on him would have been hers. That, truthfully, they likely would have found themselves in his bunk or hers after a few too many drinks. They both knew, and  _ yet _ ...she was giving him an out. The Rebellion asked a lot of them, and Jyn’s gaze was full of understanding when he could bring himself to meet her eyes. “Just make sure you use the refresher before the wedding.”

She backed out of his arms, then, a roguish grin tugging at her lips, and lighting up her eyes. “I fully intend to make an honest man out of you in…” she checked the time. “Just over six hours. Don’t be late, Cassian.”

He wasn’t.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, I was listening to The Death of a Bachelor last night and I just...this happened. I tried really hard not to write it, but whenever I sat down to write the Cassian POV for my other fic I kept coming back to this idea. So here you go: my brain has this gift for you, apparently. lol


End file.
